


Hello, I Love You

by bloodscout



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Artists, Bottom Derek, College, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodscout/pseuds/bloodscout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a bad habit of stealing other people's expensive paint from the art supply room. He should probably stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the dear lynxrowland on tumblr. This is my first attempt at writing a sex scene too, so feel free to concrit.

Stiles is rifling through the art storage room after hours, trying to steal some good paint – he’s a college student, okay, he doesn’t have money for fancy-ass gouache. He thinks he’s found some good stuff when he hears movement behind him. Grabbing as many paint tubes as he can, he spins around and ends up face to face with a very tall, very angry looking man.

‘What are you doing here?’ the other man demands. They’re close enough that Stiles can distinguish each hair from the other in they guy’s stubble.

Stiles swallows. ‘Getting… um, getting paint.’

‘This isn’t communal storage.’ The guy – okay, Stiles has to say it – he _growls_.

‘I kn- Really?’ Stiles catches himself before he makes an even bigger fool of himself. ‘You mean it isn’t for everyone?’ He is really glad that he’s not an actor, he would make no money whatsoever.

‘No.’ the other man replies tersely.

Stiles nods his head. ‘Ah. Well. I’ll be off then.’ He shoves his hands into the pockets of his paint splattered hoodie, aware of the paints still in his hands.

As Stiles pushes past towards the door, the taller man clears his throat. He holds out his hand and says ‘The gouache, please?’

Stiles rolls his eyes and laborously hands over the metal tubes. ‘Fine.’

The other man nods, and maybe looks a little pleased, but Stiles is skulking out of the room before he has time to register it.

~~~

Stiles is working on a commission in the studio when he sees the storage room guy again. Stiles has three different references of Jensen Ackles and two of Misha Collins, dotted with paint and splayed over the desk, and he’s playing The Doors very loudly off his computer. He’s trying to mix a decent shade for Dean’s jacket on a spare bit of paper, but the watercolours just aren’t working for him. He groans in frustration, just as he sees the figure looming over him. He yelps, and his paintbrush skitters across the table. Luckily, it goes right and into a pile of newspaper, rather than left and straight through Castiel’s midsection, but his hands are all shaky now.

‘Oh my god!’ Stiles hisses, furiously turning down the music. ‘Warn a guy next time!’

At that moment, Stiles looks down at what he’s working on, at how Dean and Castiel are curled up at the end of a couch, nose touching. Stiles’ eyes go wide, and he tries to sweep away the condemning evidence, but the other guy plucks the art paper up but the edge, saving it from the avalanche of paper and watercolour that hit the ground.

‘It’s a commission piece!’ Stiles cries, trying to save his dignity.

‘This is good.’ he says, without so much as a hello. He’s apparently unphased by the content of the picture. ‘Your shading’s good - for watercolours.’ He grins at his own joke, but it looks a little more predatorial than Stiles is probably comfortable with.

‘It’d be better with acrylics.’ Stiles grumbles, and doesn’t think the other guy hears him.

The other guy does hear him, though, and nods, obviously agreeing. He puts the picture down on the table, and shoves his hands into his pockets. When they reemerge, he’s holding several small tubes of paint.

‘Don’t get used to it.’ he says, smirking.

Stiles is a little shocked. ‘Thanks, dude.’

The other guy nods, and heads out. He stops in the doorway, though, and turns around. ‘I’m Derek; Derek Hale.’ the guy tells him.

‘Stiles Stilinski.’ Stiles replies.

Derek snorts, like most people do when they hear Stiles’ name. ‘I like Sabriel better.’ he says, and leaves.

Stiles stares at the door for several seconds.

‘What.’

~~~

Stiles is curled up on the quad, sketching pencil in hand, working on the curve of Irene’s back. It’s good weather for drawing outside - not so hot that he sweats and it gets on the pages, and not so cold that his fingers can’t manipulate the pencil. He’s in the process of shading Molly’s flushed cheeks when Derek’s shadow falls over the sketchbook.

Stiles snaps the book shut and looks up at Derek.

‘You know, for a college student, you don’t spend much time in class.’

Stiles pulls out his earphones, and cranes his neck up to look at the dark-haired man. ‘Neither do you.’

‘It’s Sunday.’

‘Right.’ Stiles says. ‘I knew that.’

Without ceremony, Derek picks up the sketchbook in Stiles’ lap, and flicks through a few pages.

Derek’s eyebrows go up, and Stiles winces in embarrassment. He knows that sketchbook. That’s the sketchbook that ends up posted as ‘tagged: nsfw’. Stiles is slowly flushing all the way down the colour spectrum.

Derek waves a page in front of Stiles’ face, one of the drawings he did last month. He was experimenting with pastels, and it’s a little streaky, but he was happy with it.

‘I like that one.’ Derek tells him, as if he isn’t talking about hand-drawn porn. ‘You taking commissions?’

Stiles licked his lips and craned his neck up again. ‘Yeah, if you like.’

‘How does a twenty sound?’

Stiles nods, swallows. ‘Yeah. What do you want?’ he asks.

Derek shrugs. ‘Surprise me.’

~~~

Derek pops into the studio one afternoon, about half an hour after Stiles got back from class. The first thing he does is switch off the radio that’s playing in the corner.

‘Hey, Derek.’ Stiles greets. ‘I’ve finished your drawing.’

He lifts up a sheet of paper, in acrylics this time. Derek takes it from Stiles, looks it over. Stiles knows it’s good, he knows he worked on it. There’s no reason for Derek not to like it, given his reaction to the rest of Stiles’ work.

‘You said you liked Sabriel better.’ Stiles clarifies, mostly because he wants to fill up the silence. Quiet always feels like the air is judging him. He’s so glad he didn’t draw anything more explicit than a kiss, because Stiles would be so horribly embarrassed right now. Yeah, he’s noticed Derek’s attractive, but there’s a difference between appreciating a guy in the privacy of one’s own home, and supplying him with arty sex scenes.

Derek nods. ‘I do.’

He pulls out his wallet, flicking through bills before he pulls out a twenty dollar note.

‘Oh, you don’t need to-’ Stiles protests.

Derek shakes his head - because why talk when you could just gesture?

He puts the money on the workbench, and pats it down. ‘I insist.’

As Derek leaves the room, it occurs to Stiles that Derek has never said goodbye to him.

~~~

Derek finds him in a coffee shop near campus next.

‘Stiles!’ he calls, and waves at him. Stiles grins back.

‘That’s 4.50.’ the cashier tells him, and Stiles searches in his pockets for some change.

‘I’ve got it.’ Derek says, placing a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles’ eyes go wide. ‘You really don’t have to…’ he starts, but doesn’t go any further, because hey, free coffee.

Derek gives Stiles a look that probably translates to ‘Silence, mortal.’

When they give Stiles his coffee, Derek gestures to a table that isn’t covered with discarded coffee cups and hopefully isn’t sticky with spills.

‘I don’t know anything about you.’ Stiles blurts out when they sit down.

Derek sips at his own coffee calmly. ‘I don’t really know anything about you either.’

Stiles waves a hand dismissively. ‘Not interesting. What are you studying?’

Derek doesn’t look like he believes Stiles, but he plays along anyway. ‘Guess.’

Stiles smirks – time to lay out some good old Holmesian deduction. ‘Well, you obviously go to CalArts too, you spend a lot of time in the art studios - a _lot_ of time, man - you must be about 25-‘

’27.’ Derek corrects.

‘Alright, 27, and you’re possessive of gauche. I’m guessing this is your second year MFA, painting?’

Derek chuckles. ‘First year MFA, sculpture.’

‘Why so late?’

Derek looks away, frowning.

When he didn’t seem to be responding, Stiles tapped the table. ‘Hey, Derek.’

‘I started my BFA in Dance.’ Derek admits. ‘Ballet.’

Stiles can’t help it - he laughs. The thought of Derek - tall, taciturn, frowny Derek - doing demiplies in a leotard is too much.

Derek just scowls at him. ‘Any time, Stiles.’ he says, a little impatiently.

Stiles tries to control himself. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he apologises. ‘It’s just really, really funny.’

Derek’s eyebrows smooth out a little, and Stiles could almost mistake it for a smile. ‘Alright, your turn.’ Derek says.

Stiles looks up at the ceiling, thinking of something interesing to say. ‘Well… I’m  20 years old, second year BFA, and I draw things for the internet.’

Derek fires off the next question right away. ‘Why art?’

Stiles’ own smile goes a little sad. ‘My mother - my mom was an artist. She bought me my first paint set when I was 6.’ Stiles let out a breath that os surprisingly even, when he expected it to be wet and shaky. ‘She’s gone now, though.’

Derek’s hand slides across the table, like he is going to cover Stiles’ own, but the younger man shakes himself, grins more convincingly. ‘I’m fine.’

Derek looks a little concerned, but then he hums, thinking up another question. Stiles beats him to it. ‘Why did you pick art?’

Derek traces circles onto the table. ‘Dr. Greenberg, my psychologist, started me on art therapy when I was 17.’

Stiles huffs a little laugh, and when Derek looks up at him, he’s quick to clarify. ‘Oh, I’m not laughing at the art therapy, it’s just that my psychologist was called Dr. Greenberg too.’ Derek raises an eyebrow. ‘ADHD.’ Stiles adds, pointing to himself with a self-deprecating grin.

Derek’s eyes flick up again. ‘Your dad’s a sheriff.’

Stiles nods, even though it wasn’t a question.

‘Sheriff Stilinski, of Beacon Hills. I-’

Stiles doesn’t finish his sentence, though, because he is putting down his coffee, almost slamming it on the table with the sudden realisation. ‘ _Hale_. Oh my god, you’re Derek _Hale_. I- Man, I’m so sorry.’ Stiles’ eyes go suddenly wide. ‘God, I was getting all worked up over my mom and you-’

Derek cuts him off. ‘Stiles, shut up.’ he tells him, a little angry.

‘But-’ Stiles protests.

‘No.’ Derek doesn’t say anything for a few moments after that. He just holds Stiles’ gaze, locking their eyes together. Stiles isn’t sure if it’s meant to just keep him quiet, or if Derek is trying to say something with it. ‘You’re allowed to miss her. It’s still allowed to hurt. It’s - it’s okay, even with my…’

Stiles did put his hand over Derek’s. ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

Derek frowns down at Stiles’ hand, and shakes it off. ‘I’m just going to go. Sorry.’

Stiles smiles at the other man. ‘Don’t apologise. See you ‘round.’

Derek nods. ‘Yeah, see you ‘round.’

~~~

Stiles buys a bunch of flowers for his studio on Tuesday, and hopes that Derek will come by before they wilt. He does, thankfully, on Thursday. He notices the flowers, points at them and raises and eyebrow in question.

‘They’re for you.’

Derek’s confused eyebrow does not lower. If anything, it rises higher. Sometimes Stiles thinks that the muscles that control Derek’s eyebrows are stronger than his considerably large biceps.

‘Are they?’

‘Well, yeah. Do you want me to spell it out? F-L-O-W-E-’

Derek grins. ‘Shut up, Stiles.’ He says, except it’s a little fond. He picks up the flowers, and is careful not to flick the water onto anything Stiles is working on.

Derek is about to leave, but he asks ‘Why?’

Stiles has to think about this. He can’t say _Because your family died_ or _Because you seem to understand me_ or _Because you’re already the best friend I have here_ ,  so he goes with “Because you bought me coffee and like my art.” Stiles thinks Derek knows what he means anyway.

‘Thanks.’ Derek says. He looks like he means more than he said, too. ‘Thanks.’ He says again, and leaves.

~~~

Stiles is leaving one of his few lectures when he feels a pair of wide hands cover his eyes.

‘Oh my god!’ he screams, no doubt embarrassing himself in front of his classmates, and flails wildly, hitting his assailant in the chest.

There is a quick exhale as Stiles’ arm connects, followed by a short, startled laugh. Stiles knows that laugh, and he twists out from underneath the hands over his eyes, grinning already.

‘Really getting the ADHD thing now, Stiles.’ Derek jokes.

‘Hey, you made a joke!’ Stiles congratulates, punching Derek on the arm. And yes, hello muscles. ‘And that wasn’t the ADHD, that was just plain old lack of co-ordination.’

Derek grins. ‘I came to ask if you wanted to come to dinner? It’s only that Laura’s busy and…’

Stiles nods his head emphatically. ‘Yeah, sure, that’d be cool.’

Derek reaches into his pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper. ‘I’ll pick you up from your studio at six, yeah? Take my number.’ he says, and shoves the paper at Stiles.

On it, in the girliest cursive Stiles has ever seen, is Derek’s name and phone number. Never one to pass up a chance to laugh at a friend, he giggles madly.

‘Really getting the ballet thing now, Derek.’ he mocks.

Derek playfully pushes Stiles away. ‘Yeah, whatever. See you at six.’

Derek turns back the way he came, and Stiles is left alone with the same question repeating itself in his head -

Is this a date?

~~~

Stiles was fairly certain that this is a date. So yeah, he is a little nervous. He hasn’t been on a proper date for months, not since he broke up with his first boyfriend. He isn’t sure if he should change clothes, maybe put on a different shirt - one that isn’t flecked with paint would be nice, but he doesn’t know if he owns those kinds of shirts anymore. He just settles for scrubbing the paint off his knuckles and putting on his cleanest hoodie. When a car horn beeps from street level at exactly six –Stiles _knew_ Derek would be on time for basically _everything_ \- Stiles almost trips over his own feet in his rush to get to the stairs.

When he sees Derek’s car, Stiles’ eyes almost fall out. It’s _gorgeous_. Slick paint, clean lines, leather seats… Stiles has to resist the urge to drool. He can’t help but think what it would be like to lie back in one of the seats with Derek on-

No. His mind is getting ahead of him. _Way_ ahead of him. He isn’t even sure if this was a date yet.

It totally _is_ a date, though.

He opens the passenger side door and slips in. ‘Where are we going?’ Stiles asks excitedly, buckling the seat belt.

‘Nowhere fancy.’ Derek says, and peels off the curb, and down the road.

Dinner is at a simple Italian place. Derek lets Stiles take over a lot of the conversation, and Stiles tells him about his assignments, and his classes, and his teachers. When they get onto the topic, Derek seems to be really passionate about female representation in art, and shows him a few pictures of his recent works on his phone, complaining about the low quality pictures all the while. Stiles is so wrapped up in Derek’s conversation that he misses the payment, and doesn’t get to split it.

When they are walking to Derek’s car, Stiles remembers the cheque.

‘Hey, we didn’t split the cheque.’ he says.

Derek waves a hand dismissively. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘No, really.’ Stiles insists. ‘At least agree to let me pay next time.’

Derek raises an eyebrow. ‘Next time?’

Stiles taps his fingers on his thigh, regretting the assumption. ‘Yeah, next time.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ Derek acquiesces, and opens Stiles’ door.

When they’re driving down the freeway, Derek realises he doesn’t know where Stiles lives. He says as much.

‘I’m on campus, Ahmanson Hall.’

Derek nods impassively. ‘I can get you there, sure.’

Stiles fidgets, because he doesn’t want to leave yet. ‘My… my roommate’s home tonight. He’s loud and obnoxious and maybe a model and… yeah.’

Derek nods, but doesn’t say anything. Stiles panics a little - maybe he’s made an assumption he wasn’t supposed to, seen something that wasn’t there. When he reaches the turnoff for the student housing, however, Derek doesn’t turn.

Stiles breathes out a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks, Derek. I might get a good night’s sleep tonight.’

Derek smirks, but his eyes stay fixed on the road. ‘Doubt it.’

And… okay. Okay. ‘Okay.’

‘Is that consent?’

Stiles smiles into the darkness of the car. ‘Yeah.’

When Derek drives into an underground carpark, Stiles feels a sudden spike of anxiety.

‘As long as it’s not a one time thing.’ he blurts out.

‘What?’ Derek asks as he turns a corner.

‘The consent. As long as it’s not one-off. I’m not a one night stand kind of guy.’

Derek laughs. Even in the dark, Stiles can see that Derek is grinning. ‘I couldn’t make this a one-off if I tried.’

That is a strangely large declaration, but the promise of _more_ makes Stiles inexorably happy.

‘Come on.’ Derek beckons. He draws Stiles to the elevator with a hand clasped in his. He hits the button for the fourth floor and waits for the lift to bring them up. There is an amusing rush to the way that Derek looks for his keys and opens the doors.

‘Laura, out.’ He calls into the apartment, flicking on the hall light. It’s much bigger than Stiles’ dorm, and much better furnished. Derek might even have a double bed.

A girl with dark, curly hair, who is maybe a little older than Derek, slips out of one of the rooms, wearing a pout that could rival Scott’s best. This is Laura, evidently.

‘But Dere-bear,’ she whines, obviously trying to embarrass her younger brother. ‘You didn’t tell me you’d be having friends over. How was I meant to prepare?’

‘This is Stiles.’ Derek introduces. ‘Stiles, this is my horrible older sister, Laura.’

Laura’s eyes go wide. ‘Alright, alright, I’ll get my coat. Consider me gone.’

Derek smiles in self satisfaction, and Stiles contains a giggle. Derek and Laura are polar opposites.

‘Don’t stain the furniture!’ she calls out to them. Stiles’ neck goes a little red. ‘And don’t have sex in my room! I’ll know!’

Derek groans. ‘Sometimes I hate her.’ Stiles chuckles at that.

‘Come on.’ the older man beckons, tugging on Stiles’ hand. Stiles hadn’t noticed they were still holding hands, but he finds he doesn’t mind. ‘Bedroom.’

‘Okay,’ Stiles agrees in a rush of breath. He doesn’t move right away, though – instead he catches Derek’s face in his hands, kissing him for the first time. It seems absurd that they’ve never done this, because Stiles likes kissing, is _good_ at kissing, and he’s pretty sure Derek is too. Stiles can taste the pasta sauce, and the mints Derek keeps in his glove box, and before he can catalogue anything else, he is met with Derek’s tongue, and they’re sliding alongside each other in the middle of Derek’s hallway.

Derek breaks the kiss with a short nip to Stiles’ lower lip, and tugs on Stiles’ hand, drawing him down the hall.

Derek’s pupils are slowly eclipsing his irises, and when he pushes Stiles up against the door of his bedroom, Stiles can appreciate them fully. Derek pulls off Stiles’ shirt first, surprisingly - Stiles thought he would have gone straight for the game. Stiles is aware he isn’t super muscly, but he’s lean, and he if the way Derek is leaning into him is any indication, Derek likes what he sees. The dark haired man runs a hand down the pale skin of Stiles’ chest, brushing over a sensitive niple and scraping short nails down ticklish sides. Knuckles brush over a thick happy trail and Stiles isn’t sure what he like more - the touch, or the way Derek is looking at him. Then Derek’s _mouth_ follows where his hands have been, and the balance is most definitely tipped in the “touch” direction. Stiles is well on his way to full hardness, and he’s pretty sure Derek is already there.

‘Bed.’ Stiles commands. Derek nods, losing his shirt on the way to the matress. Now Stiles has Derek pinned, and he runs his fingers down Derek’s chest, outlining his six pack. He scrapes teeth over a nipple in retaliation, and Derek groans.

’Stiles,’ he breathes out, but offers no other direction.

Stiles moves onto the shiny belt buckle, slipping the leather out of the denim with a _swish_ sound. Derek laughs a little, and maybe it sounds nervous, because Stiles slides back up the other man’s body, meeting him in a kiss. They’re both smiling into it, and their noses bump clumsily, but it calms the ragged nerves that come with intimacy.

‘We good?’ Stiles checks, not wanting to cross a line.

‘More than.’ Derek pants, grinning.

Stiles reaches between them for the button on Derek’s jeans. He drags across his own cock, friction welcome, but he rolls over for easier access.

‘The big reveal.’ Derek jokes as his hand traces the nobs at the top of Stiles’ spine.

‘Big?’ Stiles jokes, and flicks the button of Derek’s jeans.

Derek rolls his eyes, hand running through Stiles’ hair. ‘Average.’

Stiles snorts, and rolls Derek’s jeans down. It takes the two of them to kick them off, and Derek is left in just his boxer-briefs, hard cock tenting the fabric.

‘Boxer-briefs, called it.’ Stiles whispers, mouth to close to the fabric.

‘No you didn’t.’ Derek says. Stiles doesn’t argue.

He hooks his fingers into the elastic, and pulls. Stiles isn’t going to deny that he’d thought about this. And hey, he was- okay, he wasn’t a teenager anymore, he didn’t really have an excuse, but Derek was hot, he was allowed to have his fantasies.

‘Yes please.’ Stiles says when Derek gets the boxers around one foot, and kicks them at the wall.

Curving up from Derek’s stomach is a hard cock, flushed at the tip. Stiles leans over, draws his tongue over the tip, traces the vein to the base and back up again. From above him, Derek groans.

‘Good?’ Stiles asks, grinning cheekily.

Derek rolls his eyes. ‘Very. Don’t stop, please and thank you.’

Stiles obliges, slipping his lips over the head and sucking lightly. Derek is biting back moans and pants, and Stiles is torn between telling him to just let them out already and forcing it out of him with his lips and tongue instead. Never let it be said that Stiles Stilinski doesn’t like a challenge, because he goes for option two.

He takes as much in his mouth as he can, making up for the rest with his hand. He curls his tongue under the flare of the head, and Derek bucks his hips. Stiles presses a firm hand on the place whre Derek’s thigh meets his hip, and holds him down. Stiles flicks unders the head again, and feels muscles flex under his hand. Derek’s cock is such a nice weight on his tongue, and the salt of it, of the small spatterings of precome, are gorgeous. Stiles hums appreciation, and Derek cries out.

Mission accomplished.

‘Pants.’ Derek - hah - pants. ‘You’ve still got them on.’

Stiles releases the suction on Derek’s tip and moves up to kiss the other man. Their lips meet languidly, and Stiles licks the roof of Derek’s mouth as he shimmies out of his tight jeans and boxers, pulling them down at once. It is a regretfull moment when they have to break apart so Stiles can take his jeans off and return circulation to his feet, but after that, they press up closer. Stiles’ cock rests alongside Derek’s and he thrusts into the groove of the other man’s hip. Derek moans at the answering pressure on his own erection.

‘You make,’ Stiles whispers into Derek’s ears, rocking slowly, ‘such pretty noises.’

Derek curls a hand around both their erections, trapping them in the heat of his hand. Stiles moans, bucking up into the tight fist that surrounds him.

‘God, yes.’ Stiles whispers. Derek laughs at that, and it’s huskier than usual.

‘Fuck me.’ he tells Stiles, with no apparent lead up.

Stiles’ eyes go wide, and he’s pretty sure his pupils are just a blown as Derek’s. ‘Yeah?’

Derek nods, and latches onto Stiles’ neck. ‘Yeah.’ he mumbles, before sucking a mark right onto the tendon.

‘Condoms?’ Stiles asks.

Derek rolls Stiles off briefly, and grabs a tube out of his drawer, and a small foil packet. He hands them to Stiles, silent but for the heavy breathing.

Stiles rests the items on the bed, and hooks Derek’s leg over his shoulder, spreading him wide. Stiles dips his head down, runs his nose along Derek’s inner thigh.

Derek squirms, giggling. ‘That tickles. Jesus - tickles.’

‘Isn’t meant to tickle, Derek.’ he says, before his tongue replaces his nose.

Stiles’ tongue teases under Derek’s balls, sweeping over the soft skin. Stiles likes to think he can feel it tightening under his attention. He moves down, toys with Derek’s perenium. He presses forward, putting pressure on the sensitive spot, and Derek groans.

‘Alright,’ Derek breathes out. ‘Doesn’t tickle anymore.’

With a smile, Stiles’ tongue drags down sensitive skin and over Derek’s hole. The older man bucks his hips and lets out a short gasp.

‘That’s-’ Derek says unintelligably.

Stiles plays with the rim, flicking outwards, before letting the tip of his tongue slip in. Derek moans from above him, and his hands thread into Stiles’ hair, alternating between pulling lightly and going entirely lax with pleasure. The muscles around Stiles’ tongue are tight, and Stiles can smell the thick musk of Derek’s arousal. Derek’s so tight, Stiles can only imagine how it’s going to feel being inside him. He can’t believe that he has found someone so smart and so beautiful, comepletely by accident.

Stiles moves slightly where he is inside Derek, but is hesitant to do much without lube. Derek seems to be okay, but still - it’s best not to push it. He allows a few slow, shallow thrusts, feeling the pull and stretch of muscles beneath his fingers and palms, before he slips out entirely. Derek protests, but Stiles reaches a hand up to cover his lips.

‘Now now,’ Stiles says, a hand squeezing the taut muscles of Derek’s leg. ‘Be patient, Dere-bear.’

‘Don’t do that.’ Derek complains. ‘It’s creepy.’

Stiles laughs. ‘Whatever you say, love.’

Stiles makes sure his fingers are slippery before circling Derek’s hole. He only lets a tip slip in, but Derek seems to be please with one more than he did with nothing. Stiles allows a few thrusts, getting deeper each time. His breathing speeds up, matching the pace of his fingers.

‘Ready for a second?’ he asks, and Derek nods.

Stiles slips a second finger in, next to his first, and it gives him the length he needs to crook them and press along Derek’s skin. When Derek thrusts his hips into empty air, Stiles assumes he’s found the right spot, and he rubs a circle or two around it before spreading his fingers, opening Derek wider. After a while, Derek grasps Stiles shoulder, forces out ‘three’, and Stiles obliges.

He has three fingers pressed up against Derek’s prostate when Derek groans, and it sounds more frustrated than aroused.

‘Stiles,’ he growls. ‘If you don’t get your shit together _now_ , I am going to explode.’

Stiles burst out laughing. ‘Derek, if that’s your attempt at being sexy, I gotta tell you…’

Derek rolls his eyes, and Stiles should probably be concerned at how many times that has happened already, but he is honestly just finding it funny.

He rolls the condom on, trying not to think about how his hand is wrapped around his cock. He covers it with lube, and looks up at Derek questioningly.

‘We good?’ he asks.

‘We’re good.’ Derek assures him.

Stiles slides in slowly, because he still couldn’t work out if it was better to go fast or slow. Derek hisses a little, and Stiles rubs a hand along his side, massaging the tense muscles there. Derek’s cock flags, but it’s really only to be expected. Stiles stops, waits for Derek to adjust, waits for the minute nod that signals the other man is ready. He wraps a hand around Derek’s cock, and as he waits, he strokes it back to full hardness.

Derek nods softly, and they lock eyes, and Stiles pulls out slowly, before sliding back in. It’s like he’s meant to be there.

Stiles allows himself to focus on his own sensations - the tightness of Derek around him, the slip-slide of his well-lubed cock, the heat that is burning low in his abdomen. Derek is rocking back onto Stiles’ cock, meeting his thrusts half way, and when Stiles looks at Derek’s face, it’s so wrecked, and he’s making little sounds of pleasure and it is all _so good_ he just has to let him know.

‘Stiles,’ Derek breathes out, and Stiles loves the way it sounds. He locks eyes with the other man, almost wild with pleasure. ‘Harder.’ Derek commands.

Stiles obliges, pulling back, almost to the tip and slamming back in. He goes for a few more thrust like that, revelling in Derek’s moans and whispered declarations, before Derek shouts. Stiles tries to find the spot again, rocks against it in smaller strokes until Derek is a mess of breaths and broken syllables. Stiles speeds up the pace around Derek’s cock, trying to match it to his thrusts, and he feels Derek’s cock pulse and his muscles squeeze tight as he comes. He spurts between them, catching his own stomach and Stiles’ chest where it is curved over him Stiles slows down his own movements and strokes Derek through the aftershocks, before chasing his own orgasm. Derek pants beneath him, just coming down from his high, grin lopsided and tired. Stiles stills, then slumps over as he comes inside Derek.

He pulls out a few moments later, wincing with Derek, and ties the condom up. Derek takes it from him, and comes back with a clean washcloth and - thank god - mouthwash. It is a lazy and comfortable silence as Derek lets Stiles clean himself up, and Stiles doesn’t mind one bit as he tosses the washcloth away and pulls the covers up over them both.

Stiles nuzzles into Derek’s hair, inhaling the scent of sweat and conditioner. Derek leaves a wet kiss on Stiles’ cheek.

‘Goodnight, Derek.’ Stiles says, tucking into the other man’s side.

And, because he has never said it before, Derek replies with ‘Hello.’


End file.
